by Marni Mann
“I understand.”
Would he say the same once I quit the mansion and told him the truth?
My hands began to shake. I reached toward the coffee table and took a sip from my mug. “Things are messy right now—or messier, actually. I’m struggling with it all.” I leaned back into the couch and avoided his eyes. “My past is...complicated, Cameron. There’s so much I haven’t told you.”
“Hey,” he said. His fingers reached over and moved my chin to face him. “I’m not here to judge your past. We’ve all experienced things that have shaped our lives; whether they were good or bad, we have to own them. Trust me, I’m no exception. I told you Northeastern was my home, but I’ve never told you why. I think it’s time.”
Was he finally going to tell me about his scars?
“I don’t normally talk about this,” he said.
“You don’t have to—”
“I do, though. More than that, I want to.” He breathed deeply. “My childhood was a lot like yours, only my dad was in jail and my mother was a junkie. My brother and I bounced around a lot, between the apartments she lived in and the foster homes we ended up in. None of them were actually homes, though...and we were never truly safe in any of them.”
There was so much pain in his eyes, so much hurt that wanted to pour out of him. But he stayed strong. I wasn’t sure if it was for my sake, or for his.
“Things happened in those places...unimaginable things,” he said. “Physical, emotional...verbal.” He halted. “And sexual.”
I pulled his hand into my lap, covering each of his fingers with mine.
“You’ve seen some of the scars on my chest, and the scars on my hands. Those people hurt me. They hurt me with whatever they could find, whatever was within their reach.”
We had more in common than I thought.
He took a deep breath. “As soon as I was old enough to get away from those fucking bastards, I found a new home, a place where I wanted to be. That was Northeastern. Eventually, I was able to get my brother out of it, too.” He smiled. “You’d like him, Charlie. We’re very similar. He creates with poetry instead of paint.”
I lifted his hand. “I’m sorry for what you went through, Cameron.” I rubbed the marks from his knuckles and fingers across my cheek. “These don’t scare me.”
“They should.”
“They don’t; I accept them—all of them. I accept your past. Nothing you can say will change that.” I traced his scars with my fingertips. “I have darkness of my own. Plenty of it.”
He nodded. “I feel it in your work.”
“One day soon,” I said, bringing his hand down to my lap again, “I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’ll accept it. Whatever it is, I’ll accept it.”
I felt as though the air had been sucked out of my body. I wanted so much to believe this, to know his words were true.
The shadows might have known better.
I shook my head. “Don’t say that.”
“I want you.”
It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to think, to prepare. Or to stop him. His lips were suddenly on mine, his palms on my cheeks pulling me into him. I tasted the essence of coffee and the mint that was underneath. I melted under him as his tongue slowly poked in and out of my mouth, sensuously caressing my tongue, triggering thoughts of what it would feel like against my clit. His hands moved to the sides of my stomach, gradually sliding up until his thumbs were spreading space between my skin and the underwire of my bra. Everything inside me started to scream. And the voice was loud, demanding. Hungry.
As much as I wanted this for me, I couldn’t do this to him. He deserved all of me, but he deserved the truth first.
When I pulled away, his fingers clenched my ribs, yanking me against him. I pressed my forehead into his chest and listened to the sounds of his breathing. He was winded, and so was I.
“I want this. More than anything,” I said. “But I can’t…not yet.”
His fingers lightened on my skin. “OK then. We’ll wait.”
I drew my face away from his chest so he could read my expression. “Just for now, though.”
I had never been in a position like this before, where I had to control my wants and my urges. Where I actually had to stop myself from ripping off a man’s clothes because I was concerned about his feelings and the implications our actions posed for our future.
His baby blue vision stared back at me, and the guilt returned. It was so very strong.
What the fuck had I done by ever having agreed to work at the mansion? Was there even a chance that he’d really want me once he knew I’d been with so many others?
How would he be able to respect me when I hadn’t even respected myself?
“I have something I want to show you,” he said.
His hand pulled me to my feet, and I moved behind him. With his fingers still intertwined with mine, I tried to slow my breath...and I tried to still the thoughts that ricocheted between how much pleasure those fingers would be able to give me and how much disgust he would feel for me when he finally knew the truth. Would I be nothing to him but another source of pain, a scar that marked his soul instead of his body?
I wondered how it would feel when he left me...
“I thought you’d be perfect right here,” he said, “the first thing I see when I wake up.”
I hadn’t noticed that we’d stopped walking, that we had entered his bedroom...that a low, wooden, platform king-size bed sat just to our right. The comforter was black satin, with orange pillows decorating the top. A flat screen was mounted across from the bed, and on the other walls were some of his pieces...and one of mine.
Naked hung in the corner of his room, casting its gaze over the loveseat and ottoman. There I was, in fetal position...on my bed in the mansion. My face was pressed into the mattress, my hair splayed around my cheeks so no one would know it was me. But Cameron knew.
“I didn’t want anyone else to have it,” he said.
This was wrong.
All but two of my pieces had sold at the opening; before coming to Cameron’s place, I’d stopped by the gallery to pick up a check for the eighteen works. But I had no idea who the buyers were. I didn’t know if that was something that happened, or if they all preferred to remain anonymous. Now I knew at least one of them.
“You bought it?” I asked.
“I contacted Professor Freeman yesterday morning and told him I wanted it.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I wanted you on canvas, too.”
“You didn’t have to buy it; I would have given it to you,” I said, ignoring the way his voice had deepened. All of it made me want him even more. “It would have been the least I could do for everything you’ve done to help me.” And it would have given me a chance to create a version just for him...a version that didn’t depict me in the mansion.
That didn’t make a difference now.
“I don’t want anything for free.” He turned toward me, only inches of space separating us. Although my face reached only the top of his chest, I could feel the closeness of his lips and the warmth from his breath. His hunger was on display. “It’s your work; you deserve to be paid for it.”
I glanced over my shoulder at his bed, wondering if I would ever lay across it, with his sheets bunched under me and my naked body covered in his saliva.
Could I ever be worthy of such a thing?
I decided then that the next time I was with Cameron, I would reveal the truth. I didn’t know when that would be; I imagined the Doctor would be coming for me soon. I had already memorized Cameron’s face, his touch and his sound, but I made a mental duplicate of each as they were in this moment, and tucked them away just in case.
I didn’t want to forget today.
He grabbed my hand, smiled, and gently led me toward the door. “It’s time for breakfast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I have a favor to ask,” Victoria said as I stood in
front of her desk. “I have a client who prefers the special room and his usual girl isn’t available. He’s booked you for the night. I want to know if it’s all right with you if he takes you in there.”
Her words bounced off my ears before they really had a chance to be absorbed. This was why she had called and asked me to come in a few minutes early, because a client wanted to take me into the S&M room? I had worried during the ride over that she wanted to talk to me about the Doctor. I should have known better. He’d probably kept the truth from her in the same way he’d kept it from me.
“The client has been a member for years. His needs are very, very basic,” she said. “Slapping, clamping...nothing too heavy. He won’t use any of the tools on you. He gets aroused by just being in there.” She was so matter-of-fact about it. But she was that way with everything. “I know that room is off your list of services, but I promise his desires won’t make you uncomfortable.”
I wondered if the Doctor had access to the cameras and monitors, or if they were only in Victoria’s room. His office was only a short elevator ride from here. Was he watching me now? Was he curious about how I’d felt when I’d gotten home, what I was thinking, how I was reacting to all of this? Had he already planned our next meeting? It was still nearly impossible to process that he worked here, that he knew I sold my body...that he’d given me internal exams. But I wanted—and needed—to talk to him. I hoped he’d find me soon.
“You know I’ll be watching, so there’s no reason to worry,” she said. “And you know I won’t let anyone hurt you, Cee.”
I hadn’t taken the Doctor seriously when he’d asked me to quit the mansion, or when he said we’d discuss the next steps only after he had my commitment. I was listening now, though, remembering his words and trying to decipher their meaning. I didn’t know anymore if I could truly trust Victoria, either; I’d begun to wonder if she’d lied when she’d said I could quit at any time. And I didn’t care what she wanted me to do tonight, what room she wanted me to enter or what the client’s demands would be. I just needed to get out of there.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
She smiled. “Good girl.”
Not wanting to stir her suspicion that anything might be wrong, I attempted to smile back as I looped my arm through Sal’s and let him escort me upstairs and to my wing.
***
My hands were above my head, held in shackles; my feet were bound and chained to the posters at the foot of the bed. The only things covering my chest were necklaces, long chains that had been clasped behind my neck. Every next intricate strand was longer and thicker than the last. My nipples poked between the silver beads and rhinestones, and sections of my pussy did as well, from between the similar metal strands that hung from my waist. I had never been dressed in only jewelry, had never been this exposed when a client initially entered my wing for the night.
I was relieved to have my mask.
As naked and vulnerable as I was, shackled in delicate chains, Hunter was equally covered in the clothing of his role. He was decked out in a full suit, complete with vest and bow tie. He held a flogger that he brushed down my body, whipping the ends ever so slightly across my stomach and thighs.
I was inside the room that I had never entered before tonight. The walls were a deep crimson; the floor was mirrored like it was throughout my wing, and the bed was covered in latex sheets. There was more furniture in here than in my bedroom, and equipment beyond just the handcuffs. This room was a masterpiece, a den for the criminally erotic. There was a Saint Andrew’s Cross in the back; an Esse Chaise, a swing, and a spanking horse sat nearby. I didn’t know the names of the other pieces or their purposes. Hanging from an oversized pegboard on the right were gags of various widths and colors; on the left hung rings, tape, whips, more floggers, harnesses, belts, hooks, collars...even muzzles. I knew some of the apparatuses could pierce, create scars, dominate me in ways I had never experienced. A part of me wanted that punishment for what I’d done, what I’d become. I almost craved the chance to bleed. The questions, the fear, the shame—it all swirled around and around. Being in this house again, in this room, only made it worse.
As my mind returned and temporarily forced all those feelings to the back of my brain, I suddenly realized everything that had happened in my mental absence. Hunter had removed the necklaces, and miniature clamps had been placed on my nipples. His hands were reaching under me, lifting up as he carried me to what looked like a gynecological table. He set me down on my stomach; my legs were inserted in separate leather slots. He pushed my thighs apart as the table rose in height, and I felt him poke against me, spreading my wetness until he fully entered. Where most of my clients pampered me with foreplay, Hunter went straight for penetration. And he was rough. Long, deep, powerful strokes followed by short pumps that rocked me against the leather bound bed. I wished for noise, for words or moans, for something to be spoken between us. But there was nothing, not even a grunt of rage...just loud breathing that punctuated the deep, unyielding quiet.
I’m in my wing, I reminded myself again. I’m with Hunter and he’s fucking me and I need to start enjoying it so I can forget. Forget about everything besides this moment and this beautiful, fucked-up silence.
He flipped me onto my back and maneuvered my legs into their slots again, spreading them apart almost as far as they would be if I were doing a split. I hadn’t really noticed anything about his looks when he had first come into my wing. I studied him now, though: the mix of black and gray hair on his head, the curls that covered his chest. His fit frame and muscles that were large for someone his age. His lips were thin, his eyes dark. Nothing about him shouted unique. He was so much like the others.
There had been so many others.
His fingers climbed over my ass, diving between my cheeks. “May I?”
His voice...was that the first time I’d heard it? I didn’t know. The Doctor’s voice was louder. Father, father, father filled my ears.
I nodded. I wasn’t even sure what I had agreed to.
I want to get out of here.
I quickly learned what his desire was, and my body tightened as his tip began to tap against my other hole. He pushed forcefully, shoving in everything he had whether I was ready or not.
When my eyes closed, it wasn’t just the Doctor’s voice that came forth; his face also appeared in the blackness behind my lids. His nose was similar to mine, and so were his ears. My green irises often changed to hazel, like his, depending on the color shirt I wore. But how was it possible that he was my father? That he’d met Lilly, who would have been several years younger than him—or so I assumed—and had gotten her pregnant?
Then my thoughts drifted to Cameron, the way his face softened when his lips moved toward mine. The way he yearned for more of me, pulling on my cheeks, trying to get me even closer to him even though we were already touching, our bodies already pressing against each other. He controlled his wants better than me, but they were still so clear.
Hunter’s hands moved to the outside of my thighs, and his hips began to thrust at a furious pace. There hadn’t been any slowness, no gradual increase allowing me to get used to this new feeling. It wasn’t foreign, but my ass hadn’t been taken since Dallas, and my body wasn’t like memory foam. The only reason I wasn’t screaming out in pain was because Hunter’s dick was somewhat smaller. But I still felt the ache, and my body tightened with each plunge. Smaller didn’t mean softer or less eager, and what he lacked in size was compensated by his willingness to inflict pain.
My thoughts drifted again, this time to Lilly. Had she actually lied to me? She’d always claimed that she didn’t know who my father was. That she had slept with many men during that time frame and it could have been any of them, most of whom she didn’t even know their names.
I felt something wet. When I opened my eyes, Hunter was just lifting one of his hands from between my legs. The moisture hadn’t come from me; he had used his spit…a huge glob of it.
&nbs
p; How long had the Doctor known I was his daughter? How had he found out...and why had he waited so long to tell me? I wondered if anyone else knew: his wife, children. Did he even have a family? Was I some dark, dirty secret that needed to be obscured from his real life?
I shook my head, opening my eyes to focus on Hunter, and dug my nails into the bed. I needed to stay in the moment, to push those thoughts away. Even if it was brief, I needed to give Hunter my mind as well.
His sweat dripped onto my stomach as his mouth opened and his head tilted back. His fingers pushed so hard into my skin, I felt my flesh begin to bruise. My back rubbed against the cold leather, a burn forming between my shoulder blades. I welcomed the different types of pain. The sensations seemed to keep me closer to him. Now I had to turn that pain into pleasure.
I relaxed the muscles in my ass, opening myself up more to take his thrusts. A long, drawn out, sexually-charged grunt came from my lips. “Yes, baby,” I said. “Just like that.”
He had read my wants and was rewarding me; his movements were starting to feel much better. And I was even more aroused when his speed unexpectedly slowed. Instead of straight strokes, his hips began to swivel in circles. If he was trying to fuck more sounds out of me, he was succeeding.
I rubbed my clit with two fingers, the friction combining with his penetration to create that familiar tingle and warmth. His moans were delayed, as though he was waiting for mine, but they were just as loud. When he leaned over the table, he adjusted the clamps on my nipples, binding them even harder. The quick ache brought me closer, my screams alerting him to just how near I was.
Since my pain had seemed to turn him on, I asked for more of it. While he moved in and out of me, I begged him to make his pace faster, for more hurt, for him to fuck out everything that was inside of me. I ended each demand with Daddy; it had been one of his requests.
Fuck me harder, Daddy.
I was a nasty, bad girl, Daddy.
Hurt me, Daddy.